The Time For Silence
by Swallow B
Summary: A sequel to 'The Rest of the Slytherins'. For the Slytherins, post-war is also post-Snape. Main characters: the Slytherins, Snape's portrait, Professors McGonagall and Slughorn.
1. Chapter 1

The Time For Silence

It's a year today since I posted my first fan fic! To celebrate this wonderful year, I am taking the risk of posting the first chapter of a story I haven't quite finished writing yet...

This is a sequel to 'The Rest of the Slytherins'. It can stand alone, but, of course, it' s still better to read 'The Rest of the Slytherins' and 'Unicorn People' first.

Characters and major events leading to this story belong to JK Rowling.

Thank you to all who have reviewed my stories and encouraged me during this year.

ooo

1.

Breakfast was getting cold on the Slytherin common room table. Who felt like eating after having been told by an ugly elf that "Master Minister is not wanting the young Slytherin masters in the dining hall"?

Tracey had filled the cups. She knew exactly who liked tea, who preferred coffee and how much sugar to add. Life is easier when your hands are busy. She stopped herself in time before preparing a cup of heavily sugared tea for Vince. Vince would never drink sweet tea again. It seemed Greg wouldn't either. He looked at his cup as if it was a frog Professor McGonagall had asked him to change into a sugar bowl.

When there were no more cups to fill, Tracey added a spoonful of sugar to her own coffee, even though she disliked sweet coffee, and stirred, and stirred, and stirred, clockwise and counterclockwise.

"Are you preparing Forgetfulness Potion?" snapped Pansy.

Tracey dropped her spoon with a clang that resonated irritatingly through the dungeon room, but only Pansy glared.

As the younger Slytherin students had all been sent home, the seventh years were alone in the common room. After the end of the battle, they had been rounded up by the Aurors and delivered to Professor Slughorn who had promptly sent them to bed. They had slept heavily all through the day and the following night. But one couldn't sleep forever.

"Good morning, Slytherins."

Professor Slughorn had scrambled into the common room, looking flustered and apologetic. He was carrying an armful of copies of the Daily Prophet. The word 'VICTORY' was spread all over the first page, above a picture of Potter who looked as if he had just been brought back from the land of the dead, which was, in fact, just what had happened to him.

Old Sluggy had secured himself a place on the winning side.

Slughorn settled down in the best armchair next to the fire, the one Draco usually occupied. The dungeon was cool, even during the spring.

"The orders are that you stay here," he said. "You are not allowed out."

"Whose orders?" said Blaise.

"The Ministry's."

"Who is controlling the Ministry now?" asked Theo warily.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt has been named temporary Minister for Magic. All the news is in here."

Tracey gathered the plates into a pile to make room for the papers.

"Where is Professor Snape?" she asked.

"I'm sorry..."

The pile of plates crashed to the floor, but no one took any notice.

"He's dead."

There was a huge gasp, then all began to shout at the same time, as if this could make the statement untrue.

"He can't be!"

"How?"

"When?"

"They killed him!"

"Who killed him?"

"You're not sorry at all, you hated him, you old-"

"Blaise, you are talking to your Head of house!"

"Children! CHILDREN!"

Silence returned.

Professor Slughorn looked even more apologetic than he had before.

"I did not hate him. He Who Must Not... V-Voldemort killed him. His body was found in the Shrieking Shack."

"What?" shouted Blaise.

The girls exchanged glances. Tracey clapped both her hands to her mouth and ran out of the room.

"He c-can't be," stammered Draco. "That's not possible."

With a sigh, Professor Slughorn opened the Daily Prophet at page 2. Professor Snape's familiar face stared up at them. It was the same picture that had appeared in the paper when Snape had been made headmaster. Somehow, he looked much younger than they remembered him. The headline was 'Severus Snape Dies a Hero's Death'.

For a few seconds, all stared in silence. Then seven pairs of hands shot out to grab the paper. Draco and Greg tugged at the same page and tore it in two pieces. They exchanged brief glares before settling down to read their half-pages. Milly handed hers to Daphne, while Theo peered over Blaise's shoulder.

There were a few minutes of stunned silence. Professor Slughorn had never seen his students so absorbed in their reading.

"Lies!" bellowed Draco suddenly, making everyone jump. "Snape was never on their side!"

"_Their_ side?" repeated Slughorn.

"Oh you... everybody knows you're a-"

"Draco!" shouted Daphne and Pansy together.

"Right, right!"

Draco squashed his half-page into a ball, threw it into the fire and stormed out of the room.

Professor Slughorn heaved a deep sigh.

"The fact is, children..."

"We're not children," interrupted Blaise.

"You are either children or Death Eater sympathisers."

There was another short silence.

"But why didn't he tell us?" moaned Pansy.

"He told no one. It would have been much too dangerous."

"He let us go to the Dark Lord," whispered Daphne.

Greg got up, kicked his chair away and left the room. Milly picked up his discarded half-page.

"Tracey'll want to see this."

"How much of it is true, though?" asked Daphne.

"Most of it," said Slughorn. "We can be proud of our Slytherin headmaster."

"I still think he could have told us." Pansy was almost pouting.

"And then what would you have done?" snapped Blaise. "Joined the bloodtraitors? Joined Longbottom and got your face smashed up?"

"They wouldn't have wanted us anyway," said Daphne.

"And we don't want them!" concluded Pansy.

All looked at Slughorn as if he held the answer. He shrugged.

"I tried to protect you. All the teachers did. There was no stopping the Gryffindors, but I hoped my Slytherins would stay safe."

They nearly had. If only they had resisted the absurd temptation to join the adults' game.

"The best you can do is keep a low profile. It's partly for your security that you are kept in the dungeon."

"You mean they'd attack us?"

"They have tasted blood. It's addictive, you know. But I am here to protect you, and so is Professor McGonagall."

As the Slytherins exchanged skeptic looks, the door on the girls' dormitories' side opened and Tracey stumbled in, white-faced.

"When is the funeral? Are we allowed to go?"

ooo

Professor Snape was to be buried in his home town, a Muggle suburb of Manchester. Yes, it was true that his father had been a Muggle.

This was the Slytherins' first venture out of the dungeon since the end of the war.

It was quite an expedition. A wizard's funeral in a Muggle cemetery needs to be carefully planned. Everyone had to wear Muggle clothing. Daphne and Pansy were in the middle of an argument because Daphne thought Pansy's skirt was too short, when Professor Slughorn came to fetch them, looking very ill-at-ease in a suit and tie.

"Does one go blind if one stays in the dungeon too long?" asked Pansy.

Theo opened his mouth to give a scholarly answer, but Tracey muttered,

"I'd rather stay in the dungeon if that meant Professor Snape was alive."

Theo shut his mouth again.

As they stepped outside, Milly blinked in the direction of the Forest. What she had missed most were the unicorns. The foal had grown into an adult, a gracious animal who trusted only Milly, Hagrid and the Lovegood girl.

Luna Lovegood could see him whenever she wanted. For all her dreamy manner, she had been wise enough to choose the winning side.

All of Hogwarts staff was ahead, crossing the grounds towards the Disapparating Point outside the gates. Everyone was there, including Madam Pomfrey, Filch and Madam Pince.

In small groups, so as not to attract attention, they Apparated to a dirty river bank and made their way between rows of brick houses to a rather unkempt cemetery. Tracey gulped.

As no Muggle was to attend the ceremony, the place had been protected by Muggle-repelling charms.

They waited in silence until what seemed like very single Slytherin student Professor Snape had ever taught had joined them. Except Vince, Milly remembered. Greg stood with shoulders hunched, next to Draco who was so pale he looked like a ghost.

"Merlin, Shacklebolt!" remarked Pansy who was scanning the crowd. "Oh, and here's Rita. I'd better talk to her before they feed her a load of rubbish."

She stalked off with a business-like look on her face.

"It won't be 'pretty and vivacious' this time," commented Blaise. "It'll be 'Pansy Parkinson, one of the Slytherin students who joined the Dark side'..."

Other people arrived. Ravenclaws, among whom the Lovegood girl and her eccentric father. Potter and Granger. Weasley hadn't even bothered to pretend. Nor had Longbottom, the new hero. Milly preferred that. She was sure Professor Snape wouldn't have wanted Gryffindors at his funeral. Even though...

Love was a weird thing. Everybody was saying Professor Snape had given his life for the love of a Muggle-born woman who had never cared about him and had married someone else. Milly had never been in love and she wasn't sure she ever wanted to be. Love wasn't for her type, anyway. Love was for girls like Pansy. As for her, as long as she had Checkmate and Tracey...

The unicorns would have been an added bonus, though.

It was only after all the speeches, that no one had listened to, except perhaps Granger, were over, and that Professor Snape's thin body had disappeared behind white spiralling smoke to be replaced by a tomb of black granite, that Milly caught sight of her. Professor Grubbly-Plank was talking to the Lovegoods.

Milly had never felt so strongly that she had picked the wrong side.

Slowly, she edged towards them until she found herself a place behind Greg, from which she could hear their conversation.

"My dear Professor," Mr Lovegood was saying. "You are welcome to drop by any time. I will be only too happy to show you the flaws in your theory about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack..."

Professor Grubbly-Plank smiled. A serious, funeral appropriate smile, but still, a smile. You get smiles when you choose the winning side.

"Thank you," she said. "Anyway, Miss Lovegood, I hope to see you with an Outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures."

"I hope you will, Professor," said Luna in her dreamy voice. "I expect I'll very much enjoy being your apprentice."

Milly felt as if her heart had just fallen in her stomach. Professor Grubbly-Plank takes you on as an apprentice, when you choose the winning side.

At that moment, Pansy returned, looking very pleased with herself.

"The only ones who would talk to her were me and old Sluggy."

"Professor Slughorn and I," corrected Daphne, who was pretending not to care that her parents were standing on the other side with her sister Astoria and her classmates.

Pansy ignored her.

"You should have heard Sluggy! Severus this and Severus that. Ugh... Well, could have been worse. None of the Gryffs gave her the romantic hero nonsense, at least."

Draco walked off briskly, his eyes to the ground. Greg followed him, leaving Milly face to face with the Lovegoods and Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"Oh, hello, Millicent," said Luna. "Have you visited the Thestrals recently?"

"I still can't see Thestrals and I'm not allowed outside!"

Milly's voice came out bitter and angry.

"Not allowed outside?" repeated Professor Grubbly-Plank. She wasn't smiling any more.

"We're locked in the dungeon."

"I see. Something's very wrong with wizarding justice, if you ask me."

Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded to the Lovegoods and marched off towards Professor Slughorn, who took a step backwards and would have tripped over the grave marked 'Eileen Snape', if Marcus Flint hadn't caught him in time.

"Professor Slughorn, I am taking Miss Bulstrode to visit the unicorns. And if your students stay in the dungeon much longer, they'll turn into bats."

"Those are the orders," sniffed Slughorn reproachfully.

"Those are your students," replied Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Headmistress!"

Professor McGonagall was crying. Not crying like at the Quidditch match, when she had been seen wiping her nose in the Gryffindor flag. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her jaw was trembling. She didn't look like a headmistress. She didn't even look like McGonagall.

Professor Grubbly-Plank seemed to think the same thing, because she said,

"You'd better go and lie down, Minerva."

Professor Grubbly-Plank pulled out a very clean, very white handkerchief and handed it to Professor McGonagall, but that only made her cry more. Milly felt very uncomfortable.

"Come, Miss Bulstrode. You can Apparate, of course?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

When they reached the grounds, Professor Grubbly-Plank led Milly away from the rest of the group. Professor Slughorn said nothing. He had tears in his eyes and his double-chin was wobbling. Milly felt slightly guilty as she watched Tracey walk away, sobbing in her hands. Milly hoped she wouldn't trip over a stone or walk into a tree.

Professor Grubbly-Plank was walking briskly ahead, as she always did, never turning to see if Milly was following.

Then, as they were a few yards away from the paddock and no one else was in sight, she stopped and turned abruptly.

"I am Muggle-born," she said.

"My mum was a Muggle!" spluttered Milly, as if in self-defence.

Professor Grubbly-Plank gave her a sharp look, sharper than any of McGonagall's looks. She didn't say it, but the word "Was?" was all over her face.

Milly looked at the ground next to her feet. It had a suspicious colour, so she looked up again quickly, to avoid remembering what had happened here not so long ago. She found herself thinking of the Thestrals, as well as looking back at Professor Grubbly-Plank's face. It was a kind face, she noticed, and suddenly, she wanted to run away. She couldn't cry. She wasn't McGonagall. She was big Bulstrode, the Slytherin troll-faced half-blood.

Professor Grubbly-Plank began to walk again. They entered the paddock. The unicorns neighed gently and pulled at their tethers when they approached.

They were looking good.

"I heard you took care of them when Professor Hagrid and Miss Lovegood were gone," said Professor Grubbly-Plank in the soft voice she used only when she was with the unicorns.

"I took care of all the animals. Someone had to."

"You are no Death Eater, girl."

"No," said Milly thinking of the circle in the clearing and Hagrid tied to the tree.

She shivered. The unicorn nuzzled her tentatively. His warm white coat was better than a Gryffindor flag to hide her tears.

When Milly looked up again, she saw Professor Grubbly-Plank had untethered the mother unicorn and was walking her outside the paddock. Not walking her, walking with her, at her side, her hands in her pockets. Milly didn't dare approach. What if the unicorn got frightened and bolted?

She waited until Professor Grubbly-Plank and the unicorn returned, side by side. The unicorn bowed her head gracefully and let herself be tied up again.

"I missed them," said Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"So did I, " said Milly.

"How's Checkmate?"

A small grin flashed on Milly's face.

"He knows how to take care of himself. He came looking for me in the dungeon. Filch lets him out with Mrs Norris sometimes."

Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded.

"Seventh year students are given the possibility to repeat their school year. It's worth it. Aptitude isn't enough. How are your Potions marks?"

"Okay, thanks to Professor Snape."

"If you pass your NEWTs, I'd like to take you on as an apprentice. You and Miss Lovegood."

Milly gaped.

"Off you go to the dungeons. I am getting my handkerchief back from the Headmistress."

As Professor Grubbly-Plank turned to go, Milly called her back.

"Professor, are you teaching here next year?"

"No. Professor Hagrid will teach you."

"He... he doesn't like Slytherins."

"Yes, well, he likes you."

When Milly realised she was gaping again, Professor Grubbly-Plank had disappeared.

As if in a dream, she headed towards the castle. Suddenly, a familiar softness brushed her ankles.

"Checkmate," she said, bending to pick him up. "Professor Grubbly-Plank is taking me on as an apprentice. How do you like that?"

Checkmate purred and Milly hid her smile in the cat's fur. It might be dangerous to look too happy these days.

The Slytherin common room was completely silent. Greg sat in an armchair, his head tilted backwards and his eyes closed. Theo was staring into space. Blaise was nibbling a quill and frowning at an old parchment. The strangest thing was that Pansy and Daphne were sitting in a corner without gossiping. Draco and Tracey were nowhere to be seen, and Milly knew they were certainly not together.

"Where were you?" Pansy broke the silence accusingly.

"I went to see the unicorns with Professor-Grubbly-Plank."

Pansy said nothing. She knew better than to say anything about Professor Grubbly-Plank in Milly's presence.

"She came," sighed Daphne.

"Hagrid was there too." Pansy could never resist imparting this kind of information.

Daphne sighed again. Milly knew she was thinking of the scene in the Forest.

Still carrying Checkmate, she stepped out of the common room and walked down the stone steps and into the dormitory. Tracey sniffled from behind the green and silver curtains.

"I went to see the unicorns," repeated Milly, putting Checkmate down. He promptly curled up on her pillow. "With Professor Grubbly-Plank."

The curtain was pulled back, revealing Tracey's blotchy face.

"It's nice she came," she sniffed.

"She's Muggle-born," said Milly.

Tracey hid her face in her hands again. Milly pushed Checkmate gently off the pillow. Her good news could wait. In the meantime, there was too much to cry about.

ooo

**Author's Note: **The "tomb of black granite" was taken from 'A Last Chapter', by Chemistress. The idea of Luna becoming Professor Grubbly-Plank's apprentice was borrowed from 'A Helping Hand', by The Real Snape.


	2. Chapter 2

The Time For Silence

Characters and main events leading to this story belong to JK Rowling.

ooo

2.

"I have an announcement."

Professor McGonagall stood straight as a wand at the Headmistress' place at the staff table. She was speaking in the huge purple megaphone she used when she was too emotional to cast a Sonorus.

Huddled together at their usual place at the farthest corner of the table, the Slytherin eighth years, those who had been obligated to repeat their year by Ministry decree, showed no interest. What could old McG have to say that would interest them?

Soon after Professor Snape's funeral, the rules had been relaxed and the Slytherin students had been allowed out of the dungeon and onto the grounds. Milly said it was thanks to Professor Grubbly-Plank, but even Tracey was skeptical: Professor Grubbly-Plank had only made a brief appearance for Professor Snape's funeral, just as she had for Dumbledore's. She hadn't been seen since.

Whatever the reason, the Slytherins' life had become slightly easier. They had been employed to help rebuilding the castle and not even Pansy had complained.

Then school had started. A large number of the previous seventh years of all houses had returned to complete their studies. The Slytherin students never mixed with the other houses.

"You'd think we have the Dark Plague," Milly had muttered once.

"You mean the Black Plague", Tracey had corrected her.

"Whatever."

The Slytherins were following Professor Slughorn's advice of keeping a low profile and studying hard. Even Greg took his studies seriously this year. To everyone's surprise, his marks had shot upwards. It was too bad Professor Snape was not there to see it.

Professor McGonagall's voice was definitely not as crisp as usual as she pronounced the next words in the purple megaphone.

"The portrait of Professor Snape has been installed in the Headmistress' office, among the portraits of Hogwarts' previous Headmasters and Headmistresses."

Whispers rustled around the Hall. Only the Slytherins sat in silence. Professor Snape was theirs, despite the fact that he was a war hero, said their resentful faces.

Professor McGonagall stood for a few more minutes, then sat down again, as if she couldn't think of anything to add.

The whispering turned into humming.

The Slytherins exchanged disgusted glances and got up to leave.

"Slytherins, Slytherins!"

Unprecedented occurrence, Professor Slughorn had abandoned his uneaten pudding to hurry over to their table.

"I need to talk to you in the common room."

The prefects bustled around, shepherding the younger students to make sure the whole house of Slytherin gathered in the common room. None of the eighth year Slytherins had been made a prefect. They were not considered valid role models. As usual, they huddled together in a corner, slightly apart from the rest.

Draco didn't occupy the best armchair any more. It stayed empty for Professor Slughorn.

"Professor Snape has a special message for the Slytherins," said Slughorn, looking around at them paternalistically. "He has requested from the Headmistress that all Slytherin students should be allowed to speak to him whenever they wish. Professor Snape cared a lot about you," he added, quite unnecessarily.

"Appointments need to be scheduled, though, as I am sure many of you will wish to take advantage of this special favour."

A few students got up, followed by more, until a long line had formed in front of Professor Slughorn.

Only the eighth years remained seated.

When all the younger students had fixed an appointment with Professor Snape, Professor Slughorn got up from his comfortable armchair and came over to them.

First he leaves his pudding, then the best armchair, thought Blaise. He really is taking this to heart.

Tracey broke the silence.

"I would like to speak to him."

Her voice trembled slightly.

"Good," said Slughorn, adding her name to the list.

"What about you? Malfoy?"

Draco glared. But his glares had lost a lot of venom since the end of the war.

"I have nothing to say to him."

"Perhaps he has something to say to you."

"I don't want to hear it. He should have told me before..." Draco's voice broke. He got up and left.

"Goyle?" said Slughorn, as Greg's eyes followed Draco's retreat.

"What would I say to him?"

"He might have something to say to you."

The man was persistent, you could give him that.

"He wants to talk to me?" said Greg, looking incredulous.

"I think he does." Slughorn had never spoken to Greg in such a gentle voice. In fact, he had never spoken to Greg at all.

Greg shrugged.

"If he wants."

"I'll put your name down then. Theodore?'

"Yes, I'll talk to him."

"Blaise?"

Slughorn waited patiently, as Blaise hesitated.

"I haven't finished the essay," he blurted out finally.

"The essay?" repeated Slughorn. "What essay?"

Pansy giggled mirthlessly. Daphne glared at her.

"He gave me an essay. It's not finished."

"When did he give you an essay?"

"When he was alive."

The words seemed to freeze in the cold dungeon air. Nobody was looking at anyone else. Checkmate cuddled up to Milly who hid her face in the cat's fur.

"Are you going to finish it?"

"Yes. Then I'll bring it to him."

ooo

'Your business, Zabini, is to stop being destructive and begin to use your potential," Professor Snape had said.

Blaise could still hear that cold voice. He could also hear Snape's last words to the little group of seventh years on the night of the battle.

"Just stay out of the way, then."

Was that advice for life?

But there was still the essay.

The others were all in their beds, the curtains drawn. Theo and Greg had taken an appointment with Professor Snape. Draco hadn't.

Yet Professor Snape 's presence, in everyone's mind, was almost palpable.

Blaise pulled out the old smudgy parchment, full of scribbles and cross-outs.

_"What I think needs to be changed in the wizarding world_

_Everything _(crossed out)

_The world shouldn't be ruled by Gryffindors, because Gryffindors are always making everything worse. And because they hate Slytherins. And because their blood is polluted, which pollutes their brain."_

Blaise had been sure Professor Snape would agree with that. He had been one of the few second years to listen to Professor Snape's talk about the Chamber of Secrets and his explanations about Salazar Slytherin's reasons for being opposed to Muggle-borns studying at Hogwarts, or at least, being accepted in Slytherin. But he had been a second year student, then, and not too worried about Muggle-borns, which meant that much of it had escaped his attention.

Professor Snape had said something very strange, though. He had said that Muggle-born's souls were too fragile to approach Dark magic. Then he had embarked in his "ever-changing and eternal" stuff and the absurdity of the Ministry's classification of what was considered Dark magic, to the sniggers of part of the audience.

"It's not the spells themselves, but the intention behind them. Most spells have a dark potential."

"So Muggle-borns should be kept away from most spells?" someone had said.

It was strange to remember Snape's speech about Muggle-borns, now that the Daily Prophet had widely expanded on his unrequited love for Potter's mother, of all people. The Slytherins preferred to dismiss the rumour as one more of Rita Skeeter's sensationalist lucubrations that had very little to do with truth.

No one would ever have the courage to mention it to Professor Snape, even in portrait form.

Could Blaise still talk of blood pollution? It wasn't politically correct any more, but did Blaise care about politically correct?

What did Blaise care about? Truth? There wasn't enough of that around and the little there was tended to be ugly.

How else did the world need to be changed?

Blaise still had no idea. Unlike the Dark Arts, the world was 'never changing and eternal'.

Did Blaise want Muggle-borns out of the school? That Granger, for example. She had her use, as a scape-goat, as the incarnation of what was to hate. Blaise tried to imagine the school without Muggle-borns. Only Slytherins and self-righeous bloodtraitors would be left.

"_The world shouldn't be ruled by Gryffindors."_

Should it be ruled by Slytherins? House allegiance demanded that he answer yes.

The world had nearly been ruled by the Dark Lord, who was a Slytherin. Would that have been better?

Blaise had tried to write the essay many times. He had tried during his fifth year, his sixth and his seventh. He had tried after hearing of Professor Snape's death, and after the funeral. Each time, he had ended up throwing the parchment away in frustration. Professor Snape was dead. What was the use? Did his portrait care about the essay he had once given to one Blaise Zabini? Do portraits care about things?

Madam Zabini kept her portraits in the attic, where they bothered no one. One day, when his mother had been busy with her latest suitor (Blaise couldn't remember which one it was), little Blaise had crept up to see them. He had found a bunch of grumpy old men and women with red noses, who couldn't stop sneezing because of the dust. In the end, one of them, a beautiful woman whose nose was slightly less red, had ordered him to get the house-elves to clean the attic. Blaise didn't know if they had. He hadn't gone back.

Portraits were grouchy, sneezy, not very interesting things, he had decided. They served only to prove that his blood was pure.

Professor Snape's portrait, on the other hand, would not be covered in dust. The school elves probably cleaned the Headmistress' office several times a day, now that it was McGonagall.

If it weren't for the bloody essay, would Blaise want to consult Professor Snape?

The truth, that thing he disliked, hit him like a Bludger: he would.

Once more, he crumpled his parchment and pushed it under his pillow. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. And if he finally did, it would only be to dream of all the men who had walked into his life and then out, the last of them being Professor Snape.

As quietly as possible, Blaise pulled the curtain open. If his dorm mates heard him, they didn't acknowledge it. Each was busy fighting his own ghosts.

Blaise reached for slippers and night gown and tiptoed out of the room, up the cold stone stairs to the common room.

He had to speak to Professor Snape. He needed it so badly his stomach twisted like an agonising Basilisk.

How could he get to the Headmistress' office in the middle of the night without humiliating himself by calling Professor Slughorn?

"I'm coming with you."

Blaise turned around, surprised that Draco's pale complexion didn't glow in the dark.

"Where?" he asked stupidly.

"Where you're going, of course," said Draco in an irritated tone.

"Where am I going?"

"Speak lower or we'll have the stupid prefects on our case. You don't need me to tell you where you're going."

They glared at each other in the dark. It was good to have someone to glare at.

They crept out of the common room, up the stone steps and into the Entrance Hall.

"Where's the bloody HM's office?" muttered Blaise.

"Norris," whispered Draco.

"What?"

Mrs Norris peered at them, her eyes gleaming in the dark. Filch would be there in a second. Perhaps if they mentioned Professor Snape, it would help. Professor Snape had always been good to Filch, even though he was a Squib.

But instead of Filch, another gleaming-eyed cat joined Mrs Norris.

"We could hex these cats," began Blaise doubtfully, "but if Filch finds out..."

'You had better not," said Professor McGonagall.

Not only did they have another Gryffindor headmistress, but she was an Animagus.

"I am glad to see you," continued Professor McGonagall. "This vigil was getting tedious. Professor Snape said I should be expecting you. Follow me."

Were they going to be punished? Or just brought to Snape's portrait?

It seemed as if Professor McGonagall had meant the latter, but the only thing you could be sure about with her was that she hated Slytherin.

And perhaps even that was not true.


	3. Chapter 3

The Time For Silence

Characters and major events leading up to this story belong to JK Rowling.

Beliefs and opinions expressed in this chapter are those of the characters, not the author's.

ooo

3.

It was not really Severus on the wall, Minerva kept reminding herself. Nor was it really Albus. Even though Albus' portrait made her angry and Severus' made her want to hide and cry.

It was hard to remember that portraits didn't really have feelings. She was only sure of that when she passed Albus' white tomb or when she visited Severus' grave, which was always covered with daffodils.

Severus' suffering was over, but his portrait was demanding. It wanted to talk to the Slytherin students.

Minerva had suggested bringing Harry Potter to him, but Severus' portrait wasn't interested. He had been very impatient with Hermione Granger who had insisted on visiting him.

"Where are my memories?" he had yelled.

"I... the... the Ministry...took them," Hermione had stammered.

"I want them destroyed, do you hear me? Minerva, I want you to destroy these memories in front of my eyes!"

"Severus..." Albus had tried to intervene, but Severus had glared at him.

"These memories are mine, they are personal and I will not have the Ministry idiots meddling with them!"

It was not easy to live with Severus' portrait.

But the least Minerva could do was to bring his Slytherins to him, even if it involved sitting in a draught in the middle of the night waiting for them to show up.

If she had died, Minerva had wondered wistfully, as she waited on the cold ledge next to a stained window, would her Gryffindors sneak out at night to talk to her?

ooo

"Thank you, Minerva."

Before Snape's portrait had time to say anything else, Draco was shouting. Professor McGonagall and even Blaise, who was used to Draco's outbursts, jumped.

"You lied to me! You were a spy! My father trusted you! You're a traitor, you deserve to be dead! And what's that story about Potter's mother?"

At that point, Draco ran out of breath and Professor McGonagall found her voice.

"How dare you, Mr Malfoy!"

"You will get answers when you calm down and ask politely, Malfoy," said Snape.

"Yeah, call me Malfoy! You never cared about me!"

Draco turned abruptly. Professor McGonagall caught his arm.

"I have not been sitting on a stone ledge half the night for you to insult Professor Snape and then leave. You will do as he tells you and listen to what he has to say."

"I care for you very much, Draco," said Snape calmly. "How are your parents?"

Draco gulped.

"Okay. But you lied to us."

"Your father knew the truth. Things do not always have to be spoken out loud between friends."

"He knew?"

Draco's understanding of the world was crumbling before his eyes.

"The man who called himself the Dark Lord hurt your family very badly. I don't need to tell you that."

"Sit down," said Professor McGonagall.

Two straight-backed chairs, slightly softer than the ones she usually summoned, appeared in front of Snape's portrait.

Draco obeyed silently, obviously grappling with that thing he hardly knew: truth.

"You let us go to the Dark Lord," said Blaise, trying to sound respectful rather than resentful.

"Why didn't you listen to Professor Slughorn?"

"Because he's not you."

It was the first time Blaise and Draco saw Professor Snape at a loss for words. Professor McGonagall herself hadn't seen him lose composure since that night of Hallowe'en 1981...

After a few interminable minutes during which he looked from one boy to the other, Professor Snape finally said,

"You must always listen to the Head of Slytherin."

Minerva moved towards the window. It wouldn't do to break down now.

"You were the headmaster," said Blaise.

"I've been trying to do the essay," he added, as Snape stayed silent.

"Trying?"

Professor Snape sounded more like himself. For the first time, Blaise was almost pleased he hadn't written the essay.

"Yes, sir. I looked at it just now."

"Looked at it?"

"I wrote that..." Blaise glanced at Professor McGonagall.

"Why don't you go to bed, Minerva?" said Snape. "You are exhausted."

"I can't leave these students alone in the Headmaster's... I mean the Headmistress' office."

"They are not alone."

"Severus, you forget you are a portrait."

"Go to bed, Minerva."

Happier times were back for Blaise and Draco, as they watched the glaring duel between the Gryffindor Headmistress and the dead Slytherin Headmaster. Slytherin won. To his surprise, Blaise felt like cheering.

"Goodnight, Minerva."

"Goodnight, Severus," said Professor McGonagall, doubting very much that he would have a good night. On the other hand, she reminded herself, he was only a portrait. Only a portrait.

As soon as she had left, Blaise smirked.

"I wrote that the world shouldn't be ruled by Gryffindors."

"Who should rule it?"

"Slytherins, of course."

Dumbledore's portrait tried to say something, but Snape didn't let him.

"You put me in charge of the Slytherin students. I'll handle them. How about visiting one of your numerous other portraits?"

Snape had never spoken to Dumbledore in such a tone when they were alive. Blaise and Draco exchanged a look that was almost gleeful.

"Let's make a compromise," said Dumbledore. "I'll listen in silence."

Snape curled his lip. He and Dumbledore were bound together for eternity.

"Things are not so simple, Blaise. The man who called himself Voldemort was a Slytherin, but he would not have been a good leader for the wizarding world."

"There are many other Slytherins besides him."

"Indeed."

Snape glanced at Dumbledore's portrait.

"The wizarding world cannot be ruled by members of one single house. That would be absurd," intervened Fortescue's portrait.

"That is why it shouldn't be ruled by Gryffindors. What else did you write in the essay?"

"Er, nothing. Just the reason why Gryffindors aren't doing a good job."

Dumbledore's portrait put on a pained face.

"No need to waste time with the reasons. They are obvious," sniffed Snape. "My question is, what do you think needs doing?"

"Me as a Slytherin, sir?"

"You as Blaise Zabini."

Blaise stared. What was Blaise Zabini, outside of Slytherin? A second-class pureblood, a boy who had long forgotten who his real father was. Blaise Zabini was hardly the person to reform wizarding society.

Or maybe he was, indeed, exactly the right person.

"I dunno, sir."

"You can do better than that."

"I can't."

"Keep trying."

"Sir, am I going to keep on writing that b-... that essay for the rest of my life?"

"I have heard of worse fates."

"But what's the point?"

"You don't want Gryffindors ruling the wizarding world. As it happens, they are. You need a valid alternative to offer."

"Why? We lost. It's not like they're going to ask for our opinion. It's not like they ever ask us for anything, except to shut up."

"You can still think."

"Think about what?"

"You have been thinking about the essay."

Blaise fidgeted.

"It's not just the essay. It's everything. We thought you were on the Dark Lord's side and Slughorn was a bit of an idiot."

"Professor Slughorn is no idiot.'

"Oh, no?" sneered Draco.

"He treats us like he's ashamed of us,' said Blaise.

"I'll speak to him."

"He's not going to listen to you. He never cared about you. All he cares about is proving how loyal he was to the... to Professor Dumbledore."

Snape sighed.

"Don't you understand why that is necessary?"

"I'm not sucking up to them," said Draco.

"Nor am I," said Blaise.

"I didn't tell you to do that. What we must do is clarify our position. That's why the essay is important."

"You were trying to warn me, weren't you?"

"Why didn't you warn ME?" shouted Draco.

"You wouldn't have listened. But you discovered the truth without my help. We were all fooled. The house of Slytherin has suffered more than the other houses."

"The others are all heroes."

"Slytherins are not meant to be heroes."

"You're a hero."

"Nonsense. I chose the wrong side and had to repair my mistake."

"Potter's the big hero."

"That is not the point. War isn't about heroes. What you must concentrate on now is Slytherin solidarity and listening to Professor Slughorn."

"He isn't ashamed of you," added Dumbledore. "He is ashamed of himself."

"For not stopping us?"

"Among other things."

The boys noticed Snape wasn't rebuking Dumbledore for speaking after had said he wouldn't.

"We need to work together to redefine Slytherin. You need to lose your image as Voldemort followers."

"By doing what?"

"Substituting positive values."

"Like what?"

"You tell me. What are Slytherin values?"

"Blood purity."

"Blood purity is indeed a value, but it is not enough. Blood purity is essence. What have I taught you about essence in Potions?"

The boys exchanged uneasy glances.

"Essence needs to be diluted."

"What?" shouted Draco who had never heard such heresy in his life.

"The soul of a pureblood wizard has a very high magic potential. On the other hand, too much intermarriage weakens the body. This creates a body too weak to support the soul."

"Too weak? Look at Cr-... I mean Goyle!"

"Sometimes," continued Snape, " the soul destroys the body. Sometimes the body weakens the soul."

"You say that because you're a half-blood," spat Draco.

"What does that mean?" asked Blaise.

"Death, if the soul destroys the body. Loss of magic, if the body weakens the soul."

"That doesn't make sense. We'd all be Squibs or dead."

"A lot of you are."

"How dare you insult us!"

"I am telling you the truth, Draco. It's high time you heard it. Purebloods are precious because they are very rare."

"We'll be even more rare if we mix," said Blaise in a disgusted tone.

"It is not only a question of mixing blood," said Snape, in the tone he used when teaching Ravenclaws. " Pure blood is potential. I'll give you an example in Arithmancy. Take six zeroes. By themselves, they are nothing. Add a one in front of them, you have a million. Add a nine, you get nine millions. Purebloods are the guardians of wizarding tradition. This implies responsibility."

"Responsibillity?"

"You should be teachers."

"Teachers, ha! Who'll listen to us?"

"Muggle-borns crave knowledge."

"Right. Mud-... Muggle-borns are going to come to us for knowledge."

"So why didn't Salazar Slytherin want them at Hogwarts?"

"For two reasons. First, for security reasons: Muggle-borns returned to their Muggle families that always contained hostile elements. Second, Muggle-borns need a different kind of coaching, as they are completely new to the magical world."

Blaise nodded.

"So the world should be ruled by purebloods."

"Only those who live up to their potential."

"How does one do that?"

"_You_ must answer that question, Blaise."

"Is that another essay?"

"No, it's the same one."

"You're lucky you're dead," grumbled Draco. "How does one live up to one's potential in this mess?"

"What does your father say?"

Draco looked away.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"He is right. Now is the time for silence. Let the world forget you. During this time, Slytherins should stand together and redefine their principles."

Draco groaned.

"Yes, Draco. Without your father's help. Learn to think for yourself. Salazar Slytherin was a geat wizard. His name should not be assimilated to Voldemort."

"Hear hear," said Phineas Nigellus Black.

"And then what? The Gryffs are in power."

"Only until they make their next mistake."

Phineas Nigellus smirked.

"And then?"

"Next Slytherin Minister for Magic must not be a dark lord."

"There will always be dark lords," said Dumbledore.

"Not all are Slytherins."

"A Gryffindor dark lord? Humph!" sniffed Phineas Nigellus.

Dumbledore coughed.

"You'd be surprised."

"Who was a Gryffindor dark lord?" asked Snape.

"No one, happily. But all is possible."

Snape was a little taken aback. Phineas Nigellus looked skeptical. The boys exchanged glances. Their meeting with Snape's portrait was not unfolding at all the way they had expected. A Gryffindor dark lord? Essence needs to be diluted? Redefine Slytherin? This had to be a dream. Draco yawned.

"It's very late, boys," said Snape. "I want you in class on time tomorrow morning. Whenever you need to talk to me, the Headmistress has instructions to let you in. Regards to your parents, Draco."

"Goodnight, sir."

.

As the spiral steps carried them downwards, Blaise whispered,

"Snape's the real headmaster here."

Draco yawned again. He was too confused to have an opinion. Any kind of opinion.


	4. Chapter 4

The Time For Silence

Characters and main events leading to this chapter belong to JK Rowling.

4.

_"Things do not always have to be spoken out loud between friends."_

_Minerva sat up with a jolt. As it often happened with Severus, the sting of his remark had only begun to hurt when she had finally been on the point of falling asleep._

_Lucius Malfoy had been a real friend to Severus._

_She had not._

_Cruel, arrogant Death Eater Lucius Malfoy had understood his friend and hadn't betrayed him._

_She had gleefully sent him to his death._

_No wonder Severus had sent her away to be alone with his students, with his friend's son._

_Her hand trembled, but didn't hesitate, as she reached for the bottle of dreamless sleep potion in the dark. She couldn't afford insomnia. The school needed her._

ooo

In the dungeon, the dormitory door opened and then closed very quietly. Greg heard Draco's distinctive tiptoe and guessed he could hear Blaise's too.

They had gone to talk to Professor Snape, Greg knew them well enough to understand that.

Greg didn't care. He didn't care about Snape, he didn't care about Draco and he didn't care about Blaise. He didn't care about anything. He just couldn't sleep. He had just woken up drenched in sweat, after fleeing the room of Requirement again and losing Vince once more.

How many times was he going to lose Vince?

The worst was that each time, Vince was still there before he lost him. As if each time, he could have prevented it from happening, but didn't.

In the bed across the room, Theo was moaning and calling his father.

Greg couldn't blame Blaise and Draco for leaving the dormitory. No one wanted to sleep.

Being awake wasn't better, though. Life was so bad it had got to the point where Greg listened to Binns' lectures and scribbled down notes, just not to think about anything else. Just not to think. He listened to Trelawney. She had told him he had another hundred and thirty years to live. What was he going to do for the next hundred and thirty years?

He didn't care.

Greg had never wondered much about what he was going to do. He wasn't going to start now.

Perhaps Firewhisky would help him sleep.

He heard Draco and Blaise toss in their beds. Snape hadn't helped them. Of course, how could Snape help them? He was dead. Even alive people couldn't help.

Greg didn't ask himself questions. He just felt a huge hole in his middle, he didn't care about anything any more and he knew it was because Vince was gone. Vince had been a part of him. He had always been there. Vince's father was Greg's mother's brother and Greg's father was Vince's mother's brother. They had grown up together. They had always done everything together. They had followed Draco together, sharing a secret understanding and secret jokes Draco never suspected. They had been Beaters on the Quidditch team together.

Now that idiot Knatchbull was the other Beater.

Greg had stopped following Draco everywhere, because Draco was moody and snappy all the time and didn't seem to want him around. They had never really been friends, but now Draco had even stopped pretending.

Life had become chilly, as if Greg was suddenly walking around without his clothes.

Greg saw no point in visiting Snape's portrait. Snape's portrait couldn't bring Vince back.

There was nowhere to go.

ooo

Even so, a few days later, Greg walked into the Headmistress' office, because Professor Slughorn had told him Professor Snape wanted to speak to him. Greg walked in there as he walked everywhere, automatically, unfeeling, uncaring.

The spiral staircase left him opposite a door with a knocker in the shape of a griffon. Greg supposed he was expected to knock, so he knocked.

Professor McGonagall opened the door.

"Ah, Goyle, come in. Professor Snape is waiting for you."

With that, she walked out, leaving him alone.

Greg blinked. He had never been in the Headmaster's - Headmistress', whatever - 's office. It was a strange room. Well, headmasters were strange. Even when they were Professor Snape.

Where was Snape, anyway? Greg gazed aournd the room at the portraits on the wall. Dumbledore smiled at him. Greg blinked again. Dumbledore was smiling at HIM, a mediocre Slytherin student? He looked away quickly.

Another portrait was smiling at him, though the smile was somewhat different. Greg couldn't have said how he recognised it, but he knew it was a Slytherin smile. Besides, the man was wearing green and silver.

"One of our Slytherins," said the portrait. "Gregory Goyle, I get it?"

Greg nodded.

"Professor Snape is right behind you."

Greg turned his back to the man quite unceremoniously.

"Good afternoon, Gregory."

Greg grabbed the Headmistress'desk. The shock of hearing that voice was like getting a punch in the stomach. Last time he had heard it, Snape was headmaster, the Dark Lord was in power and VINCE WAS ALIVE.

Snape had never called him Gregory. He always called him Goyle and even that sounded funny, at the time, because few people ever called him anything but Crabbeandgoyle. Vince called him Greg. Nobody called him Gregory.

"Sit down," said Snape.

Greg let go of the desk and looked around. There was a straight-backed McGonagall chair by the desk. Greg perched himself on it.

Snape was watching him. Greg gazed up into the black eyes.

"I had a friend," began Snape, after a few minutes of silence that hadn't been uncomfortable because Greg liked silence. Too many words made him dizzy.

"I had a friend when I was at school. She was in Gryffindor."

She? Gryffindor?

"You may have heard the story. Her name was Lily Evans."

Greg didn't think he'd ever heard the name Lily Evans. Why would he know the name of a Gryffindor?

"The man who called himself the Dark Lord killed her. After she died, the world stopped existing. There were no more colours, no more tastes, no more joys. There was no more reason to live."

Geg nodded.

"I lived anyway. Professor Dumbledore made me Head of Slytherin."

There was a silence. Professor Snape had finished his story.

"Did you have nightmares?" asked Greg.

"Every night. Do you take dreamless sleep potion?"

Greg shrugged.

"Why not?"

"Dunno."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey. You know she is one of us. A Slytherin. Tell her I sent you. Ask her for a dreamless sleep potion. And never take more than she prescribes."

"I couldn't. She wouldn't let me."

"I know. What do you do during the day?"

"Lessons."

"Quidditch?"

"That idiot Knatchbull is Beater."

"Sorry to hear that. At least, the team has one good Beater."

"One?"

"You."

"Oh."

"Try to win the Cup this year. I don't want the Headmistress looking too happy."

A reluctant half-grin crept to Greg's lips. He nodded.

"How are your marks?"

Greg shrugged.

"I heard they have improved."

Shrug.

"It's good."

Shrug.

"Even Professor Trelawney says you have a good future."

"Well, she's wrong."

There was a ripple of chuckles among the portraits.

"Indeed," said Snape.

"Severus!" scolded Dumbledore. "Is that how you encourage your students?"

"Yes," said Snape. "By the way, Dumbledore, you might also have a story to share with Gregory."

"I? Ahem, you are in charge of the Slytherin students, Severus."

"That's what I thought. Professor Dumbledore put me in charge of the Slytherin students, Gregory. That's why I lived."

"Then you died."

"I died when my time came."

Greg nodded.

"What am I in charge of?"

"Yourself. I had a conversation with Blaise and Draco a few nights ago. I told them the importance of redefining Slytherin."

"Redef-...?"

"You are a Slytherin."

"I know that."

"Good. And you are not a Death Eater."

"Can't be. Not now."

"Exactly."

"So what am I?"

"_You_ have to answer that question."

"I don't know how to answer questions."

"You will. Your mother and your aunt need you. So does the Slytherin Quidditch team. That's all you need to know for now."

Greg wasn't sure what Professor Snape meant, but he couldn't be bothered to figure it out. So he nodded again.

"You can come back to see me whenever you feel like it. The Headmistress has instructions to let you in."

"Okay. Goodbye, sir."

"Goodbye, Gregory."

.

"I'm Gregory," thought Greg, as he spiralled downwards.

He had answered his first question.

ooo

_"Lucius Malfoy ws a better friend to you than I was."_

_"Lucius Malfoy?" Snape frowned. "It was different."_

_"He guessed."_

_"Circumstances were very different, Minerva. Besides," he added, "Gryffindors lack subtlety. That's why they're Gryffindors."_

_Minerva refrained from asking why Goyle wasn't in her house._


	5. Chapter 5

The Time For Silence

Characters and main events leading to this story belong to JK Rowling.

ooo

5.

A rushing sound filled the dining hall and Theo stiffened, as a hundred owls swooped down onto the tables. Every morning Theo stiffened: this could be the morning he got The Letter. The morning he would be alone in the world. Not that Theo wasn't used to being alone. He even liked it. But what he had now was uncomplete aloneness, the sort of aloneness where you had a father who cared for you in a distracted way and enquired about school marks. Theo always had good marks.

The object of Theo's dread hit him on the head. Greg didn't snigger, which was a mark of how much things had changed.

Draco shot a wary look in Theo's direction, while tearing his mother's parcel apart. Madam Malfoy still sent sweets to her ex-Death Eater son. Actually, she sent more than she ever had, meaning them to be shared at the Slytherin table. Draco pushed the package towards the first years, one eye on Theo.

The letter, as all his letters, bore the black seal of Azkaban Post. Theo opened it with trembling fingers and heaved a sigh of relief. It was a tiny piece of parchment on which a few lines had been weakly scrawled.

"Dear Theodore,

I hope you are well.

I am unwell, yet still alive.

Keep on studying. Think of your future and the future of the house of Nott.

Write to me, your letters are my sole comfort.

Your loving Father."

Theo gave the letter a quick glance. He didn't need to read it. The words were always the same. He just needed to look at the state of the handwriting. He rolled the parchment carefully and tucked it into his robes.

Father was still alive.

For how long?

Draco looked hurriedly away. When you're rich, you get out of everything, even Azkaban. Theo was beyond bitterness. He hadn't expected things to be different. Once more, the Malfoys had wormed their way out, thanks to their gold, and Madam Malfoy's so-called heroic behaviour. Theo preferred to call it quick thinking. Madam Malfoy was not unintelligent and she was, after all, a Slytherin.

Draco got up, abandoning the package of sweets on the table. All followed him out of habit, including Theo.

"Theodore Nott!"

Professor Slughorn was puffing his way to the Slytherin table. He reached out for a handful of sweets, looked at them and offered them to Theo. Theo shook his head.

"They're the best, you know..." said Professor Slughorn, putting them in his pocket. "Don't forget your appointment with Professor Snape tonight. I will take you to the gargoyle and Professor McGonagall will let you in."

"Thank you, sir."

Theo's voice was expressionless.

"Theodore Nott", indeed. As if Theo hadn't known his Head of house as "Uncle Horace" in the days when Alfred Nott and Horace Slughorn were the best of friends. No one could be trusted, thought Theo bitterly, and there was no appealing to Professor Slughorn's memory. It was too selective. Professor Snape, on the other hand...

Professor Snape had always liked Theo, in the way he liked his students, which consisted in being demanding, yet supportive, expecting only the best, but offering the means to attain it: a book, a few words of advice between his teeth, extra coaching presented as detention. Even Milly had been grateful for her Remedial Potions.

When Lucius Malfoy, Alfred Nott and Crabbe Senior, whatever his name was, had been arrested at the Ministry, Professor Snape had immediately written to Madam Malfoy, asking her to take Theo in. Snape could be trusted not to let you down, even if your father was in Azkaban.

Now of course, Snape was dead and there wasn't much his portrait could do, but at least he would listen and care, which was more than most people did.

ooo

"Good evening, Nott," said Professor McGonagall, looking sorry for him.

"Good evening, Professor,' said Theo, as coldly as he dared. He didn't want her pity.

"I'll leave you with Professor Snape," she said, still looking sorry.

Theo said nothing. She walked out.

"Theodore Nott, the best student in Slytherin," remarked a portrait whom Theo recognised as Phineas Nigellus Black.

"Thank you, sir."

"Theodore," said Snape.

Theo whirled around.

"Do you have news from your father?"

"A letter, this morning."

Theo put his hand to his pocket, then realised he couldn't give the letter to Professor Snape.

"If I show you, will you see it?"

"Bring it close."

Professor Snape peered at the letter, then looked at Theo.

"He's going to die, isn't he?" said Theo.

"Only strong people survive Azkaban. Your father has been through too much."

"There's nothing you can do, nobody you can talk to?"

"I am afraid Professor McGonagall cannot be asked. She has enough difficulties defending the students' interests."

"My interest is..." It seemed so pointless that Theo left his sentence unfinished.

"I know. I have used my privilege of 'hero'", he pronounced the word derisively, "to speak to the Headmistress, but that doesn't help."

"Not much use being a hero, then."

"Especially if you're dead."

"There's nothing we can do, is there?"

"Write to him. Write to him all the time. The dead hero will try and speak to as many people as wish to listen to him... not that many, once all is said and done. The Malfoys have asked to talk to me. Perhaps Madam Malfoy can have an influence. She has a certain talent for persuasion..."

Dumbledore appeared to be smirking. Theo hated him.

"What's it like, to die?"

"I couldn't tell you, I am only a portrait."

"Harry Potter could," said Dumbledore.

"Please, Dumbledore, haven't we agreed I am in charge of the Slytherin students?"

"I am only trying to help."

"I don't want to talk to Harry Potter," said Theo. "I've never had anything to say to him and I haven't now... It's better if Father dies quick, isn't it?"

"Indeed, if we cannot have him freed. I have mentioned his state of health to Professor McGonagall..."

"She doesn't care."

"He was a Death Eater. Death Eaters killed members of Professor McGonagall's family. Things are not simple."

"I know that. Well, thanks for trying."

Theo tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice and out of his head, never suspecting it was really in his heart. Theo didn't think of his heart much.

"You must go on living, Theodore."

"I am not going to commit suicide. I'm of age. I'll make a living somehow. I don't need much."

"You wanted to work in the Department of Mysteries."

"If they still let Death Eaters' children in. If not - I can do my own research. I'm not bothered by the Ministry. I wish Madam Pince would let me in the Restricted Section, though. No chance of that, is there?"

"That would be even harder than getting your father out of Azkaban. They don't trust you. I know you claimed at the trial that you went to the Dark Lord because you were worried about your father..."

"It was true."

"I know it was. And you know as I do that truth has many facets."

Snape's portrait sighed. It looked tired. Could portraits get tired? Theo's intellectual curiosity was aroused.

"What's it like to be a portrait?" he asked.

"Well, Theodore Nott," beamed Phineas Nigellus. "This is the first time I hear this question in my seventy-three years on this wall."

Snape was thoughtful.

"It's very much like being alive, yet your life is over. You cannot change anything any more. You watch the world through a screen and your interactions with it are very limited."

"It gets worse when you don't know anyone alive any more," added Phineas Nigellus, who was clearly enjoying this conversation, "though you sometimes get to meet your descendants. It gives one quite a perspective."

"This is one thing I have been spared," muttered Snape.

"Oh no, you haven't, Severus. Watching your students' students is very much like watching your children's children."

"My students' students..." repeated Snape.

Theo was struck with sudden understanding.

"Then we should teach. Someone in Slytherin should teach... But I could never... I am not good with people."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"What's funny?" asked Theo disrespectfully. The old Gryffindor"s interventions thoroughly annoyed him.

"Professor Dumbledore means I was no better", clarified Snape in an icy voice.

"You were good. I couldn't say the same of Slughorn."

Dumbledore put on his pained face.

"Try and be better," said Phineas Nigellus, who had taken a liking to this young Slytherin.

"Blaise was talking of teaching..."

"Blaise!" Snape looked happily surprised.

Dumbledore was less happy.

"I don't know," continued Theo. "Teaching's important, isn't it? Passing on Slytherin values. That's what Blaise was saying."

The perspective of spending his life facing classes of idiots was not a rejoicing one for Theo. But there would be compensations. He would be able to consult regularly with Professor Snape. And he would gain access to the Restricted Section.

"I'll think about it."

"You just need to fall in love," said Dumbledore.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh yes. Love gives people the incentive to do the hardest things."

Theo looked completely blank.

"I don't know if I can do that either."

"Please, young man, don't encourage Dumbledore's underestimation of Slytherin," said Phineas Nigellus smugly.

.

Theo left the Headmistress' office perplexed. He had been presented with two unexpected options for his life and he wasn't sure which was the most difficult.

ooo

The black seal of Azkaban Post was borrowed from 'In Which the Princess Rescues the Dragon', by Vera Rozalsky.

'ן


	6. Chapter 6

The Time For Silence

Characters and main events leading to this story belong to JK Rowling.

ooo

6.

Tracey woke up early that morning. Had one of the girls cried in her sleep? All seemed still behind the emerald green curtains.

She hadn't had any nightmares that night, she noticed, pleasantly surprised. Perhaps it wore off, after a bit. Perhaps it stopped being every night and became every other night, then only once or twice a week. Then one could start living more or less normally.

What day were we today?

Tracey's heart leapt as she remembered: today she was scheduled to meet Professor Snape's portrait. With the other girls, of course. The only time Professor Snape had spoken to Tracey alone had been for her career appointment, in fifth year.

"I believe you have a brain," he had said, when she had stammered that she didn't know what she wanted to do after school. "You wouldn't be in Slytherin if you didn't have a minimum of cunning."

That was a compliment.

"_You_ must choose," he had told her. " I wouldn't trust any of the girls in your year to do it for you."

And then what had she done? Followed Pansy and Daphne to the Dark Lord. Because purebloods lead and the rest follow.

Now they were saying Professor Snape was a half-blood, that his father was not just Muggle-born, like Tracey's, but an actual Muggle.

The subject was taboo in the Slytherin common-room. One did not discuss Professor Snape's ancestry or his so-called great love for Potter's mother. Pansy's cherful motto, "always believe the worst", did not apply to Professor Snape.

Professor Snape was Professor Snape was Professor Snape.

And Tracey was going to talk to his portrait today.

Of course, she wouldn't do the talking. Pansy always did the talking. That's why she had been made a prefect and Head girl, before her disgrace. The Slytherin girls' meeting with Professor Snape would go like this: Pansy would talk, Daphne would nudge her and remind her not to talk like a Muggle and Tracey and Milly would nod and agree.

Still, it would be good to listen to Professor Snape's advice.

Like making your own choice and not listening to others.

Tracey wished she could discuss things with Milly. Milly's common sense was usually helpful. But Milly was snoring loudly in the next bed. If Tracey tried to wake her, Milly would start, grunt "What?" and wake the whole dormitory.

Tracey sighed.

The curtains in the bed across the room tore open and Pansy's puffy face appeared.

"Oh, it's you," she said in a sleepy voice. ''S'your big day today, isn't it?"

Tracey sighed again.

"Stop it, Pansy. It isn't funny."

Daphne's feet slid out of her bed right into her emerald slippers and their owner emerged, wrapped up in a bathrobe.

"Wake up, Milly. It's time."

Milly turned over, grumbled something, took one look at Tracey and said, "Professor Snape."

.

The boys had all spoken to Professor Snape. Greg was showing more interest in Quidditch, though he still hated Knatchbull, the other Beater. Theo was making efforts to talk about something else than how long his father still had to live. He and Blaise had been having intense discussions about Salazar Slytherin's teachings and the future of his house. Draco was sulking. He was angry at everyone: at Slughorn, at Pansy, at his dorm mates, at McGonagall and even at Professor Snape. At least, he never spoke of his father any more, which was a welcome change.

The girls had not dared ask anyone what Professor Snape had to say. They would soon find out, anyway.

Soon! Tonight!

Tracey hardly touched her breakfast, even though Milly rolled her eyes at her full plate. Milly knew Tracey felt about Professor Snape the same way she felt about Professor Grubbly-Plank, but she had never lost her appetite over it.

A dark grey owl landed majestically next to Daphne, who untied the roll of parchment from its leg with a visible lack of enthusiasm. She pushed the letter over to Pansy, who eagerly unrolled it.

After a few minutes of silently feeding cornflakes to her house-owl, Daphne turned to Pansy.

"What do they say?" she whispered.

"Same old rubbish,' said Pansy cheerfully. "That you'll never find a husband who wasn't a Death Eater."

"What if I don't?"

"You will. You're not a Slytherin for nothing."

Pansy's eyes scanned the Ravenclaw table.

"Let's see. Who's pureblood over there?"

"Oh, please!... Let's get out of here."

.

Soon they were sitting in History of Magic. Tracey found it hard to concentrate on this subject, that had always been so important to her. Usually, she would write every single word down avidly, eager to become so knowledgeable everyone would forget her father was Muggle-born.

A fly came buzzing in front of her nose. She tried to push it away in Milly's direction, but the fly seemed to have a mind of its own. It chose Daphne's neat parchment and alighted just on top of the last word, the word 'war'. The ink was still damp. The fly seemed to be tasting it.

Flies aren't supposed to drink ink.

The absurdity of animals and people acting differently than the way they were expected always set Daphne on edge.

The fly was an apathetic type. It needed to be prodded with the end of Daphne's quill before it condescended to drag itself off the site of the crime.

The thought 'it's not fair' presented itself to Daphne for the thousandth time since the war had ended. For the thousandth time, she dismissed it. Professor Snape had taught them 'Slytherins don't expect fairness'. But then, Professor Snape had led them to believe he was on the Dark Lord's side for years.

What was the point of listening to parents and teachers if they were going to lead you on false tracks and then turn their backs on you? Daphne's life-order had been shattered. She had no idea what her place in this new world was. She studied and took notes because she felt safer doing so, but the sudden sight of a fly messing up her neatly written History of Magic lesson was one more illustration of the mockery her life had become.

Angrily, Daphne rolled up her parchment, not caring if the smudge spread to the rest of the words. The fly achieved a last minute escape.

"Shit," said Daphne tentatively.

The ceiling didn't cave in. The desk stayed in place, Professor Binns droned on and the fly danced off dreamily towards Pansy. A 'Reducto' would have had more effect.

"Fuck," she added.

It felt good.

"I agree," said Pansy, looking up from her dawdles. "But I am supposed to say that and you're supposed to tell me to talk nicely."

"Sod off," said Daphne. She thought of adding "little bitch", but decided not to overdo it the first time.

What was wrong with Daphne? wondered Pansy. Was it because of that stupid fly that was now buzzing off in Draco's direction? Pansy watched it for a moment, as it hovered over the pale blond head. Then she checked on herself and turned her gaze to the other side of the classroom where Granger was writing diligently. Not that she was interested in Granger, but she didn't want anybody to think she was looking at _Draco._

The official version was that she had dumped him for being a Death Eater and a loser. What had actually happened had been slightly more complicated, but that was irrelevant. It had to be irrelevant if she wanted to survive and Pansy wanted more than to just survive. She wanted revenge. She wanted to show them all, the Gryffindors and Draco, that Pansy Parkinson was not defeated. Pansy Parkinson always landed on her feet, thank you very much. To use Professor Snape's word, Pansy didn't blubber. Pansy Parkinson didn't pine after a boy who didn't deserve it, never mind how handsome and rich he was. Never mind what their past history had been. Never mind that... Never mind.

He was just a stupid, selfish, egocentric, weak and cowardly git.

She hated him.

"Bastard," she muttered.

"Bastard," approved Daphne, who didn't need to ask who Pansy was referring to.

ooo

In they marched: petite, sharp-eyed Pansy Parkinson, tall, aristocratic Daphne Greengrass, big Millicent Bulstrode and rabbit-like Tracey Davis. Severus' girls.

For the boys, Minerva had always felt sorry. Doomed childhoods. With the girls, it was not so simple. Nothing was simple with girls.

They stood opposite her, one silent hostile bloc.

"Girls," said Severus.

All turned around in perfect choreographic unison. Even Bulstrode demonstrated a certain grace.

"Good evening. Please get some chairs, Minerva."

The girls sat down, ignoring the Headmistress as if she were nothing more than a house-elf.

"How are you?" asked Snape.

"We're surviving," answered Pansy. "But everybody hates us. And I wish you had told us you were a spy."

"Would that have affected your choice?"

"Of course it would. And Draco's."

"On the other hand," interjected Daphne. " We had no choice. Professor McGonagall," she looked accusingly at the Headmistress, "chucked us out."

"Professor Slughorn intended you to go home."

"We wanted to fight on your side."

"Miss Parkinson, I find it hard to believe you went to the Dark Lord only for my sake."

"Well, if you'd told us not to, we wouldn't have."

"I did give you hints."

"They are children, Severus," said Professor McGonagall. "They need more than hints."

"They are Slytherins. And there is such a thing as taking responsibility for one's actions. Blaming one's mistakes on others is a sign of immaturity."

'If we're immature, then you should have-"

"I see you like playing the blaming game, Miss Parkinson. Fine. You can blame me and leave this office."

Pansy bit her lip. Daphne gave her an 'I told you' look.

"If you were immature, it was all the more reason for you to ignore my role. Professor McGonagall herself was not informed of it. Nor was Professor Slughorn."

"Slughorn's only interested in his Slug Club."

"The Slug Club has been dissolved," said Professor McGonagall.

"He still has his favourites."

"May I ask who they are now?"

"Oh, Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, Lovegood..."

"Any Slytherins?"

"Maybe Maia Calico... Graham Pritchard... But way behind. They aren't war heroes."

"I see. Now Miss Parkinson, you mentioned 'everybody hates you.' Who is everybody?"

"The whole bloody school."

"Pansy!" protested Daphne. To swear was one thing. To do so while speaking to Professor Snape was another.

"The staff?"

"I'd say so."

"The staff does not-" began Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Parkinson," interrupted Snape. "Do you enjoy the idea of the whole school hating you, of being a martyr?"

"Of course not."

"Good. Then you won't feel too disappointed to hear your assumption is false."

"How do you know?"

"I have spoken with my colleagues. It would be closer to the truth to say they are worried about you."

"Why? Because we've got the Dark Plague?"

"Please refrain from mis-using Muggle expressions, Miss Parkinson. And remember that the enemy within is the most dangerous."

"You mean Professor Slughorn?"

"I mean yourself."

"I'm nobody's enemy. Shall I tell you the truth, Professor?"

"I would appreciate it."

"Well, I'm glad the Dark Lord's gone. We made a mistake going to him, it was horrible. And I'll tell you something else: I don't really care who's pureblood and who isn't. Rita says the Dark Lord was a half-blood himself."

"Rita?"

"Skeeter."

"I see. Sometimes being pureblood is convenient and sometimes it isn't."

"Exactly."

"So, Miss Parkinson, is there something else you wish to talk about?"

"It's just that we're the black sheep. Professor Slughorn says we must keep a low profile."

"I am sure you understand why."

"Oh yes."

"Any questions, requests?"

"Well, I'd like to..." she turned and looked at Professor McGonagall.

"Do something of which Professor McGonagall would disapprove?"

"I don't know. Would they take me at the Prophet?"

Minerva could hardly believe her eyes: Severus was smiling.

"Very good, Miss Parkinson. I understand you know Rita Skeeter."

"I told her you were a great Head of Slytherin and all the rubbish she wanted to write about you wasn't true. You never met Potter's mother in your life."

"Thank you."

He really was smiling.

"Well, good luck, Miss Parkinson. How about you, Miss Greengrass?"

"I've been wondering," said Daphne quietly. "My parents are ashamed of me. Professor Slughorn is ashamed of us. And all I have ever done is my duty. What's the point then?"

"That's a very good question. Keep wondering."

"What_ is_ the point?"

"What do you want to do in life, Miss Greengrass?"

"I'm a pureblood. I am going to carry on the traditions... I suppose. Though I don't know any more."

"Now is a good time to think about it. What do these traditions mean to you? What do you like?"

"I like feeling secure."

"What would make you feel secure?"

"A good marriage."

"What is a good marriage?"

"Marrying a pureblood from a good family."

"That wouldn't guarantee security, Miss Greengrass."

"No, I suppose not. So what would?"

"Nothing would. What would you like to do?"

"Do?"

"Do. What interests you?"

Daphne blinked.

"Think about it."

"What about you, Miss Davis? And leave your collar alone. You are not eleven years old."

"Well, I... I am going to do what you told me."

"That sounds good. What did I tell you?"

"Not to listen to... anybody. To make my own decisions."

Snape's portrait nodded.

"You have finally come to the right conclusion."

Tracey blushed and nipped at her collar again.

"And you, Miss Bulstrode?"

Milly was staring out of the window, on to the Quidditch pitch. She started.

"Uh? I mean, excuse me, sir?"

"Any questions, requests?"

"Why can't girls play Quidditch?"

"You can. I just don't want you on the team."

"Why?"

"Because..."

Because Quidditch is dangerous and I am responsible for you. Because the place of a pureblood daughter is in the audience. Because I couldn't protect Lily. None of these reasons made sense any more, as Snape looked at the sturdy girl's eager face.

"Madam Hooch tells me Miss Bulstrode would be an asset to the Slytherin team. And Miss Parkinson would be an excellent Seeker," remarked Professor McGonagall.

"Can I trust your judgement, Minerva, or are you trying to sabotage my team?"

"Talk to Rolanda, then."

Pansy was failing pathetically in her efforts to look indifferent.

"What position would you play, Miss Bulstrode? Beater? You might do better than Knatchbull."

"Oh, he's not that bad, Professor. Greg doesn't like him because he isn't Vince. He wouldn't like me any better. I'm not Vince either."

"He might be better disposed towards you because you are a girl."

Milly looked doubtful.

"We ought to try and get Draco Malfoy back on the team too. Why isn't he playing any more?"

"Don't ask me," said Pansy disdainfully.

"I'll speak to Madam Hooch."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" exclaimed Milly.

"Thank you," repeated Pansy, her eyes sparkling.

"A new era in Quidditch is beginning." Professor McGonagall was beaming.

"Only if the Head of Slytherin agrees," intervened Dumbledore's portrait.

Milly giggled.

"What's funny?" said Pansy.

"I know how to convince him. I've seen Professor Grubbly-Plank do it. You walk straight at him like that."

She marched forcefully towards Pansy who stepped backwards in alarm.

"Definitely Beater," remarked Professor McGonagall.

ooo

When the girls got back to the common room, Greg was bent over a letter to his mother, his tongue between his teeth, Draco was gazing moodily at his homework and Blaise and Theo were heading a discussion with a group of younger students, in which the word 'Slytherin' came up frequently.

"So? What did Professor Snape say?" asked Blaise eagerly.

"He said girls can be on the Quidditch team!" announced Pansy happily, riding an imaginary broom across the room, to Knatchbull's horror.

"It's about bloody time!" added Daphne.

ooo

Irma Pince glanced at the clock. She dreaded closing time. Not only because she hated to leave the library, though that was also true, but mostly because she dreaded Argus Filch's daily - nightly - offers to help, coupled with attempts to make her climb to the highest shelves in the hope he would get a glimpse of her legs.

You can't be nice to men without them imagining things and Irma had inadvertently given food for imagination to one of the worse men she knew.

Some two years ago, before Dumbledore's death, Irma had imprudently invited Filch for a cup of tea, out of compassion for his hard-working life as a despised Squib.

Next time she'd know better. Being nice to most people, especially men, was such a waste. There was a reason Irma Pince preferred books to people.

Filch had been missing Umbridge. Irma should have realised that fact spoke in his disfavour, but how was she to guess he would seek compensation with her?

Irma Pince was proud to say she had nothing in common with Dolores Umbridge.

During her time as High Inquisitor, Umbridge had visited the library, banishing books right and left in the most random and arbitrary fashion possible. Had Irma listened to her, no student above first year would have found anything worth reading. It had been almost too easy, though, to Transfigure the books at Umbridge's approach.

Dumbledore had been killed a short time after Filch had begun his 'court'. Then there had been that terrible year. She hadn't had the heart to make Filch miserable. As a Squib, his days were probably counted.

Who doesn't discourage Filch encourages him. He was becoming obnoxious. Irma had seriously begun to think that the only way for her to find peace would be to leave Hogwarts. Of course, she would miss the Hogwarts library, but there were other wizarding libraries elsewhere, with more careful readers. And books were books everywhere.

The only thing that was preventing her from handing in her resignation was compassion for Minerva. The Headmistress had plenty on her plate. She had already been pleading with Professor Slughorn not to abandon the school until she could find a competent new Head of Slytherin.

It was Irma's peace of mind against Minerva's.

Too good for her own good was Irma Pince.

It really was getting late. She had already let the usual bunch of Ravenclaws, Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott and Tracey Davis stay longer than her self-set rules allowed.

"The library is closing," she announced with a sigh. "Please register whatever books you are taking out."

The students gathered their books. Hermione Granger was first in line, with Nott squinting at the books she had taken out of the Restricted Section. Tracey Davis was taking a lot of time sorting out her books. She stood last in line, chewing onto her collar, looking uneasy.

Had the stupid girls spoilt one of her precious books?

It didn't seem to be the case. Quite the opposite, in fact. Tracey Davis showed an unusual respect for books.

"'Rare diseases of the British Hippogriff', that's for your friend Bulstrode. 'Quidditch through the Ages' again?"

"Yes. Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn are allowing Slytherin girls to be on the team now."

"Oh yes?"

Irma Pince didn't care much for Quidditch.

"There you are, Miss Davis," she added with a sigh, resigned as she was to hearing Filch's shuffling and wheezing as soon as Miss Davis would be out of sight.

But Tracey didn't budge. Her teeth parted slowly, letting the damp collar slip out.

"Er."

What now? Usually, this kind of behaviour annoyed Irma, but tonight, given a choice between Tracey Davis and Argus Filch, Irma chose Tracey.

The silly girl probably wanted a book she was too embarrassed to ask for: a sex book, or something from the Restricted Section. Or both.

In the first case, the girl should not be frightened away. In the second, those Slytherins should certainly be kept away from Dark magic. In the third case, hum...

"Yes?" said Irma, keeping her tone neutral.

Tracey took a deep breath.

"How does one become a librarian?"

Irma sighed again, but this time it was with relief. There was hope in sight.

ooo

A.N.**: **Thanks to Kelly Chambliss for alerting me to the presence of sex books in the Hogwarts library.


	7. Chapter 7

The Time For Silence

Characters and main events leading to this story belong to JK Rowling.

To Vera, as a very humble birthday present, yet hopefully more tasty than a virtual cake.

ooo

7.

"Oh, yes! Wonderful! That girl is extraordinary!" squealed Minerva, her eyes glued to the Omnioculars.

"Damn it, Minerva! Take me off the wall! That's _my _ team for which you're jumping up and down like an excited Niffler!"

Minerva sighed, put the Omnioculars down, lifted Snape's portrait and carried it to the window.

"Can you see?"

"My eye-sight has always been excellent... Oh, dash it all, pass me the Omnioculars!"

Minerva carefully placed the Omnioculars in front of the portrait's eyes.

"Draco isn't there," grumbled Severus.

"The girls are fantastic, though. Can I have the Omnioculars back?"

"Minerva, I want you to call Horace."

"Now?"

"The Quidditch trials are now. That's when I want Draco on the pitch."

"Why? Miss Parkinson is a much better Seeker..."

"We'll talk about that later. Get Horace, please."

Minerva sighed and lifted her wand. The silver cat with spectacle markings slipped out of the room.

"He'll be coming. Can I have the Omnioculars now?"

"Of course you can!"

"Urquhart is a real idiot if he doesn't get the girls on the team."

"Minerva, do you realise this is the Slytherin team you are talking about?"

"Of course. Girls on the Slytherin team!"

"If I'd known that would make you so happy..."

Severus left his sentence hanging for Minerva to interpret it the way she liked, but when it came to Quidditch issues, Minerva lost all coherence and self-control. Severus was glad when Horace walked into the office. Annoyed, though: the man had been taking his time. Severus had always made a point of coming fast when the Headmaster called.

"Yes, Minerva, I mean Headmistress."

"Look, Horace, the Quidditch trials!"

"Oh yes, indeed. May I summon a more comfortable chair?"

"Horace, I didn't invite you to watch a Quidditch match out of the window," snapped Severus. "I want Draco Malfoy on the pitch."

"You want...? But Severus..."

"Why isn't Draco Malfoy on the pitch?"

"But... Because Draco Malfoy doesn't want to be on the pitch."

"Well, I want him there. Go and tell Draco I want him on the pitch now."

Slughorn cast a wistful glance at Minerva's straight-backed chairs and walked out.

ooo

Draco was lying on his back gazing moodily at the ceiling. He had finished all his homework and couldn't think what to do with himself. He saw no point in studying anything that hadn't been required by the school curriculum. He wasn't interested in reading or listening to Theo's exposition on the different types of Slytherins. He could go for a walk, but it would be hard not to hear the racket that was going on around the Quidditch pitch. Girls on the team. Draco hoped they fell off their brooms and broke their necks. Especially Pansy. She thought she could be a Seeker, did she? All she was good for seeking was a rich man, and even that she had missed. Something must be wrong with Snape's portrait. And with Sluggy. Well, it was obvious a lot was wrong with Sluggy.

"Professor Slughorn wants to talk to you."

Theo had poked his head into the dormitory. Draco could tell he was annoyed at having been interrupted in the middle of his Slytherin discussion with Blaise.

"Tell him I'm sleeping."

"Tell him yourself."

Theo's head disappeared.

Theo had never obeyed Draco's orders. He wasn't going to start now.

Draco considered staying on his bed, but what was the point of staring at the ceiling and wondering what Slughorn wanted? He dragged himself up.

Professor Slughorn was sitting in the best armchair, telling Blaise something about West being connected to the element of water.

"What?" barked Draco, stomping into the common-room.

"Ah, Malfoy. Professor Snape wants you on the Quidditch pitch."

"Professor Snape's dead."

"Tell that to his portrait."

"It's trials for girls. I'm not a girl."

"It's trials for everybody." Slughorn's voice was calm, but it had dangerous undertones.

"Who says I have to play Quidditch?"

"Professor Snape does and if you tell me he's dead, it's detention."

"A' right," muttered Draco.

Kicking his feet on the stone steps, he trudged out of the dungeon, to the bright, noisy, hostile outside world. He kicked pebbles on the way to the Quidditch pitch. It was almost fun. He splashed a few into the lake. West is related to the element of water, what crap.

ooo

"Malfoy is there," said Minerva, who had the Omnioculars.

"I know. I'd recognise that hair anywhere. Is Horace with him?"

"No. Malfoy is alone."

"Perhaps you ought to go down there, then. I hope you understand this isn't about Quidditch. It's about Draco. The boy used to love flying."

Minerva put the Omnioculars down.

"I'm going."

ooo

All the girls were screeching and hugging each other. Greg was looking at Milly as if he'd never seen her before.

"Come to try out, Malfoy?" called Urquhart.

There seemed to be a jinx on the position of Quidditch captain. Whoever was captain became blind to all external considerations. Urquhart only cared about one thing:having the best team possible to win the Cup. Political affiliation and war record were forgotten.

"Parkinson's Seeker. But you might do well as Keeper."

Keeper? Draco shrugged.

"Try it."

Urquhart seemed quite eager.

Ha, the team couldn't do without him.

"I'll get my broom."

.

When Draco emerged from the changing room, the mood had changed. The girls had stopped screeching and hugging and Urquhart looked nervous. Professor McGonagall had joined Madam Hooch in the stands.

Draco raised an eyebrow and decided he didn't care about the old hag. He swung his leg over the broom, gripped the handle and kicked off. Cold air rushed at his face. The pitch, McGonagall, Urquhart, Pansy and her silly friends, all shrunk beneath him. He was free. He was above it all. Higher and higher he soared, further away from Hogwarts

Exhilaration. Ecstasy. Lightness. He had forgotten what it felt like.

"What's he playing at?" grumbled Urquhart.

"He is much too high." Professor McGonagall grabbed a broom.

"I'll get him," said Madam Hooch.

But Professor McGonagall was off.

She looked just like a witch in a Muggle book, thought Milly, with her pointed hat piercing the wind.

Draco's eyes were beginning to water. His ears ached. Could he reach that cloud?

The pitch had shrunk beneath her. Cold air rushed at her face.

Exhilaration. Ecstasy. Lightness. She had forgotten what it felt like.

"Malfoy!"

He ignored her.

"Malfoy! Come down!"

Draco laughed drunkenly.

"You'll get pneumonia if you fly into that cloud!"

"What do you care?"

"Down!"

Draco didn't want to go down. Ever.

"Down!"

Professor McGonagall whipped out her wand. Draco saw her mouthing a word he didn't hear and his broom dived. Hogwarts, the pitch, Urquhart, Pansy and her silly friends, all rose to meet him. His feet smoothly reached the ground. The air was stiflingly still.

"Why did you do that?" snarled Urquhart.

"I like flying. I want to be Chaser, not Keeper."

"We'll see about that."

Professor McGonagall had landed with unexpected grace. She handed her broom to Madam Hooch, who was watching her with undisguised admiration. Her cheeks were flushed and her glasses flashed strangely.

"That was incredibly foolish and irresponsible, Malfoy!"

"I want to be Chaser!"

"You want? It's about time you learned you are not getting everything you want. What say you, Madam Hooch?"

"Malfoy is a good flyer, but unfocused. You can't just disappear into a cloud in the middle of a match, boy."

"I won't do that! I want Slytherin to win!"

"Er, shall I give him a go?" asked Urquhart.

Professor McGonagall pinched her lips.

"Consider yourself lucky Professor Snape wants you on the team, Malfoy. And remember: no flying above a hundred feet or you are definitely out."

.

"I don't like it," said Madam Hooch, as Professor McGonagall took place next to her in her stands. "Malfoy was a Death Eater. They've already got Goyle on the team, and now the girls. I didn't say anything, because I am glad the girls are in at last... But Malfoy... That's too much. It doesn't look good, you know. Too many Death Eater sympathisers."

"Severus says..."

"No offence, Minerva, you know I have always admired you..."

" But...?"

"But you are the headmistress. And you aren't acting like one."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are a splendid flyer... but it was my job to go after Malfoy."

Minerva's glasses flashed again. Rolanda felt uncomfortable: it was a rather liquid flash.

"Get a grip, Minerva." Her voice was somewhat softer. "I hardly ever hear you speak, these days, without beginning your sentence with 'Professor Snape says' or 'Severus thinks'. No offence to Severus, he is a hero..."

"But...?" whispered Minerva.

"But he is dead."

"The portraits are there to help me."

"Dumbledore never let the portraits boss him around."

The glasses glistened towards the other end of the pitch. Malfoy was being acclaimed.

"He can focus when he wants to," muttered Rolanda. "What that boy needs is discipline."

Minerva blew her nose.

"Quidditch can provide him with the structure and discipline he needs. I think that's what Severus..."

She blew her nose again.

"How about moving Severus to the Slytherin common room?"

"Tradition demands that the previous headmasters' portraits should be in the Headmaster's... Headmistress' office."

"Tradition demands the Headmistress keep her feet on the ground while the flying instructor pulls students out of the clouds."

"Yes, well..."

"It's been a long time, hasn't it? Since you were last on a broom?"

Minerva nodded vaguely.

"You see, Rolanda, Quidditch is where these students can find their place again."

"I am a flying instructor, not a post-trauma therapist."

"Not a what?"

"Forget it. It's a Muggle thing."

"I am responsible for these students, Rolanda."

"So long as it's you and not a dead man..."

"Rolanda!"

"What? I said no offence, didn't I? And Urquhart is the one who'll make the decision. It's just that it won't look good."

"It will make a good match."

"I thought you were all for inter-house co-operation and friendship."

"Generally speaking, that's the aim. But this is Quidditch."

"Yes, this is Quidditch," nodded Rolanda.

ooo

"Malfoy is in. You can be happy now."

"Happy?" repeated Snape's portrait.

"Rolanda thinks it's bad for Slytherin's image."

Snape frowned. Minerva took advantage of his silence to ask,

"May I rest before you send me off on another mission?"

"You'll have plenty of time to rest when you're a portrait."

"Why don't _you_ rest?"

"You know why, Minerva."

"All right. Well, I am taking the night off."

"Minerva!"

She froze, but didn't turn to look at him.

"If you are having a cat's night, please bring back some rat spleens for the Potions classroom."

The heavy oak door slammed noisily.

ooo

"Minerva!" exclaimed Slughorn, aghasted. "Things aren't done that way."

" New ideas have to be introduced sometimes. A second portrait of Professor Snape in the Slytherin common room will be helpful to everyone. The students will be able to speak to him without coming to my office, and both of us will be better off if he spends less time badgering us ."

"Well, you do have a point..."

After all, thought Horace, if Snape's portrait wanted to take on the role of eternal Head of Slytherin, he, Horace Slughorn, might be able to go back to his well-deserved retirement. Granger, Longbottom, Weasley and Lovegood would be out of school next year. He was an old man. It was time to move on.

And if he was not mistaken, in a few years, the school would count two new Slytherin teachers, perhaps even three, and a Slytherin librarian. If Severus had been a good Head of house, there was no reason why Blaise couldn't be.

Hadn't he, Horace Slughorn, done his bit for Slytherin and for his own conscience by contributing to the downfall of Tom Riddle? Undeniably.

"That's an excellent idea you had, Minerva. What a pity you were never part of the Slug Club."

She sniffed.

"If I remember rightly, in those days, girls were not considered important enough."

"My mistake, my dear, my big mistake..."


	8. Chapter 8

The Time For Silence

Characters and main events leading to this story belong to JK Rowling.

My characterisation of Slughorn was very much inspired by The Real Snape's story, 'Subtlety Personified'.

ooo

8.

"Girls on the Slytherin team", remarked Pomona, pouring hot milk on her porridge. "Good one, Minerva."

"I did nothing," said Minerva.

"But why," slurped Rolanda, between rapid mouthfuls of egg, "did Severus wait till he was dead before he changed the rule? Was he afraid of the pureblood parents?"

"The pureblood parents, as you call them, were not to be trifled with when Severus was in charge," said Horace, leaning back to admire his full plate.

"And," added Aurora, "he had other priorities."

For Aurora, Severus could do no wrong. In her favour, she had been the only one to support him during his year as headmaster. She had humbled the rest of the staff by being right, but that was little comfort to her. Severus was dead now. Aurora only ever wore black. Some nights, the wind on the Astronomy Tower made her robes billow ominously and, if her hair had been lank and greasy instead of frizzy, she would have looked like Severus' ghost.

"Mmm..." mumbled Rolanda, wiping her mouth hastily before jumping up.

"Wait," said Minerva.

"Yes, Headmistress."

Rolanda plonked herself down again, with something like a smirk on her face.

"As you know, I have ordered a second portrait to be made for the Slytherin common room," began Minerva.

"Oh yes, and the Malfoys are having a third portrait made..." added Horace, who was now meticulously slicing his food in mouthful sized pieces.

"But you are not off the hook."

"Off the hook?" repeated Pomona.

For the first time, Minerva smiled.

"Severus is not content with having spoken to every single student in the school, including the first years who have never known him alive..."

"And having had about six conversations with Miss Granger..."

"Seven, but who's counting?"

"She _tried _to speak to him seven times," corrected Minerva. "But that is not the point. Severus wants to talk to you."

"Who?"

"All of you."

"Does Severus ever do anything but have private conversations?" muttered Rolanda.

"Of course not, he's a portrait."

"Sorry."

"And you, Horace, are first."

"But I have already spoken to Severus, many times. And I will again, if he is going to spend time in the Slytherin common room."

"Severus wants to talk to you. To all of you," said Minerva, turning to Filius who was contentedly sipping pumpkin juice.

"Of course, Minerva. I have been wanting to visit him for a long time. If he has finished with his students..."

"He will never have finished with his students, I'm afraid."

"Of course. Of course they come first. Well, I certainly would be happy to talk to Severus."

"Hagrid, Pomona, all of you."

Pomona choked on her porridge. Hagrid stared at his feet.

"O' course, Minerva. We owe 'im. Daft of us not to have known, really."

"Yes," agreed Pomona, as soon as she had stopped coughing.

"Severus was never a great talker. What has come over him?"

Horace was fidgeting with his neatly cut morsels.

"No offence to Severus, Headmistress," said Rolanda, " but we don't have to hop up as soon as he opens his heroic dead mouth."

"What do you have against Severus?"

Aurora was in shock.

"Nothing, of course. I might go and pay my respects. After all, the team is much better off with Miss Parkinson and Miss Bulstrode."

"Are we scheduling meetings?" asked Horace.

"They are already scheduled."

Minerva had hoped having a second portrait of Snape in the Slytherin common room would keep her office looking less like Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but it seemed the staff room might be needing one too.

ooo

"Severus," said Horace, settling himself as comfortably as possible in Minerva's hard chair. He really regretted he hadn't invited her to the Slug Club. Now she was making him pay.

He had been right to admit Severus, though. Brilliant student, perhaps even better than Lily, lovely Lily. If Lucius Malfoy, that good for nothing brat, had noticed Severus, how could Horace Slughorn have done less?

But Severus was incorruptible. Never a favour for his old teacher. He had never agreed to postpone any of Harry Potter's detentions to let the boy come to Horace's evenings, and now he was summoning him over, to give him a lecture, Horace was sure. Once a headmaster, always a headmaster.

"Headmaster", he added.

"Professor McGonagall is the headmistress."

"Severus, then. You want to talk? Haven't we talked already?"

"Not enough."

Horace sighed. He really wished he could get a more comfortable seat, but somehow, he felt bringing it up would be innappropriate.

"I am listening."

"I hope you are. The Headmistress says you wish to leave Hogwarts."

"As soon as I can. I am getting old, Severus."

"Horace, do you care about Slytherin?"

"How dare you! Of course I care about Slytherin."

"You are the only Head of Slytherin the world will respect. You fought Voldemort."

"Well, I couldn't let him... you know..."

"Quite. Slytherin needs a politically correct Head of house."

"Well, I..."

"And a strong Head of house."

"Horace helped me duel Voldemort, together with Kinglsey."

Horace turned abruptly. He had forgotten Minerva was in the room. He had forgotten this was her office.

"No other Slytherin volunteered," she was saying.

"And no one else is volunteering to be Head of Slytherin," added Severus.

"Who would want that job?" sighed Horace. "All right, all right... Is that all?"

"This is only the beginning. The world respects you. The students need to respect you too. I don't like hearing Zabini say he didn't listen to you because..."

Snape interrupted himself.

"Because?"

"Because you were not Professor Snape," completed Minerva.

"Well, I'm not. I never will be. You might as well forget it."

"The Slytherins need a Head of house they can look up to, especially the eighth years."

"You are being unfair, Severus. These children have known you and trusted you for seven years. You earned their loyalty."

"Do you know how I earned it? By not favouring a small group of well-connected brats. You liked Blaise, but he despised you."

"Severus!"

"Forget about your connections. Or rather use them wisely. You have a gift for understanding people, for seeing their potential."

"No, I don't."

"What are you talking about? Many students would never have made their way in the world if it weren't for you."

"One of them was called Tom Riddle."

"What?"

"Tom Riddle would have killed Kingsley and myself had you not fought him," said Minerva quietly.

"Just trying to... well, you know..."

"I know," said Snape. "You should be more concerned than anyone that none of your students should become a second Voldemort."

"Certainly..."

"We all make mistakes. The fact remains that you have helped many students who deserved it. Now if you took advantage of your connections to help Miss Parkinson, for example..."

"You mean I should introduce her to Gwenog Jones, as I did Miss Weasley?"

"I am sure you did. No, I don't mean Madam Jones. Miss Parkinson will quickly get bored with Quidditch. I was thinking of the editor of the Daily Prophet."

"Barnabas? Miss Parkinson at the Prophet? You can't be serious. Barnabas will never hire a girl who joined the Dark side."

"He might, if _you_ ask him. Tell him Miss Parkinson is the most inventive gossip in the school. She is intelligent enough to write what people want to read and use a pen name."

"Severus, do we really want that type of journalism?" groaned Minerva.

"Whether we want it or not, we'll have it."

"Indeed, indeed. I'll take care of it, Severus."

Horace was in his element.

"While you're at it, you might find something for Goyle too."

"Goyle? Severus, the boy has no talent whatsoever."

"No academic talent, you mean. I myself have lacked patience with him more than once. You are probably the only person who can help him."

"Certainly, Severus, but..."

"The boy will be grateful to you."

"Hum..."

What was to be gained form Goyle's gratefulness, Horace was not sure. Well, at least, there was nothing to lose.

"It's Malfoy I am worried about," continued Snape. "He has only ever respected three people: his parents and me."

"Your idea of getting him back on the team was a good one. I hadn't really seen him play before, though of course, I knew the Malfoys were always good flyers."

"Yes, well, that won't make him respect Urquhart, who is younger than him, or stupid Rolanda - sorry, Minerva."

"Or me," added Horace. "I am not introducing _Malfoy_ to anyone."

"It's better that way. Draco needs to adjust to the new reality, to the fact that his name now closes doors instead of opening them."

"It does him good to be interested in something else than being sorry for himself," said Minerva. "And I must admit he is a good flyer."

"Oh well, if you admit... Anything else, Severus?"

"You can't wait to get away from me, I see."

"If you and Minerva cared more about comfort, if we could have a friendly chat in a good armchair with chosen refreshments..."

"I am not interested in friendly chats."

"No, you never were. Except... a long time ago."

"A very long time ago."

"It's a sad story, Severus. Who might have thought I would outlive so many of my students?"

"And I," added Minerva.

"There are plenty more to keep you busy. They are the ones who need you," said Severus.

"Indeed, indeed."

"Maybe you have something to say to Severus, Horace?"

"I think we have covered it all. Severus doesn't enjoy tearful apologies."

"Certainly not."

"So have a good night, my dear boy."

Horace got up stiffly.

"I'm getting too old for this, mark my words. My back is killing me. Wait till you're my age, Minerva."

He traipsed out, muttering to himself.

"That man will teach, conspire and enjoy life until the age of a hundred and fifty at least," observed Severus.

They exchanged a look - a smile - of complicity. It was the first time Minerva was able to look at Severus without being torn with guilt.

This, of course, made her feel very guilty.

ooo

There was no doubt the Headmaster's office looked like Platform Nine and Three Quarters when Filius, Pomona, Rolanda, Aurora, Sybill, Septima, Batsheba and Hagrid stepped in that evening. Some embarrassed and some eager, all stood in front of him as they had on that first morning of school in September 1997.

"Severus..." began a few voices.

"I know," said Snape's portrait in the low voice he had always used in class, and, as in class, all listened silently. "You're all sorry and you all apologise. Enough of that. I have no patience for it. We all make mistakes. If you feel you owe me something. I just ask one thing: don't make the same mistake with my students. That's all I have to say."

There were a few hushed gasps as he got up and turned his back on them in a dramatic swish. Then Rolanda called out,

"Hey, Sev! Thanks for the girls!"

His head turned slowly.

"NO ONE is allowed to call me Sev."

"I know, Headmaster. I just thought you were in a hurry."

"I am."

Another swish and he was gone.

"I'm sorry..." began Minerva.

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

"It's his way of saying he forgives us."

"He's just being his good old narkey self."

"I would have preferred something more personal, though."

"But he is right. There's work to do."

They filed out, until the spiral staircase looked like an Underground escalator at rush hour.

"Headmaster Snape doesn't lack style either," remarked Phineas Nigellus Black.

"Pip," called Minerva. "Please bring me a cup of tea."

.

Blaise started, then grinned as the familiar voice sounded across the common room.

"I am still waiting for your essay, Zabini."

ooo

**Author's Note** : This is not the end, but it's a good place to stop. For now. Until the Muse presents me - or you - with More.

Thanks to all of you for your helpful comments.


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